


Just So

by whiskeyandspite



Category: Hannibal (TV), Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Art Inspired, Blindfolds, Bottom Will, Doctor Hannibal, Established Relationship, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Historical AU, Kissing, M/M, Oral, Rimming, Topping from the Bottom Will, Whipping Boy Will, crossover AU, secret romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: “Would you truly have kissed me so, just to show them?” Will murmured, laughing when Hannibal’s brow went up. “Devious man,” he sighed, reaching out to cup Hannibal’s cheek, to draw his thumb against his slick lips. “You know I’m starved for your kisses.”Will and Hannibal, shoved into Verailles era because why the hell not.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 98





	Just So

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluepolygon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepolygon/gifts).



> For the absolutely glamorous and talented Blue who asked me to write a fic based on some of their incredible art. I was honored, and I would do it again in a heartbeat :D

It started with a game.

A silly game for men of leisure to wile away the boredom. Will couldn’t even remember who had come up with it, only that he had been pushed with friendly teasing to join.

The rules were simple, if few: one was to be blindfolded, and fed small morsels of food that they were to identify by taste alone. If they succeeded, they were returned their sight and another took their place. If they failed, they were kissed, and the game continued.

There was an entire spread of variety dotted about on the small side tables for them to choose from; savory and sweet, fresh ingredients and prepared ones, all things that at one time or another they all would have tasted at the breakfast or dinner table. The fun was in who could degustate the specific flavor they were being fed; no one ever paid attention at breakfast or dinner, food was food, and if it tasted nasty they fed it to the army of little pooches that swarmed their legs. More food would come regardless, they’d never known hunger.

By the time Will was seated in the high-backed chair, a red silk ribbon tied around his eyes, his friends were more than a little inebriated. Will himself had held off, knowing the agony of the headache that would inevitably follow him to morning. He’d claimed it was to keep his taste buds clean for a quick victory.

The first morsel he was fed was tangy, sharp, but pleasant. Will allowed it to roll against his tongue before swallowing and proclaimed it to be quince.

“It isn’t!” One young man shouted, delighted and drunk, and Will laughed, accepting a chaste kiss as his reprimand. “It was an apple, Will, surely you’ve tasted  _ that _ before.”

“Our Will does not partake in the forbidden,” another countered, “you know that. He prides himself on being such an innocent boy.”

Will scoffed, bringing a hand to his lips to wipe away the ghost of another’s mouth and gestured that he was ready for another taste. He was far,  _ far, _ from innocent. His cheeks were pink, but so were many others’.

“I do not enjoy something so  _ common,” _ Will countered, trying to save face. “My tastes are far more refined than yours, Gaspard.”

“He has a point,” Leon piped up. “You’ve tasted every manner of common.”

Laughter, rich and at another’s expense, helped Will relax, and he obediently opened his mouth for his next attempt. Chocolate, he was certain, yet when he gave his answer there was an uproar.

“You must tell us what the chocolate is  _ in, _ Will.”

“Chocolate is far too broad a category to count that as a proper answer.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have made it so difficult, honestly, how can he  _ tell _ which little cake that was part of?”

“Oh now you’ve ruined it, you’ve told him it’s a cake!”

In the end, they all agreed that it was too hard to judge, and Will once more accepted his fate beneath the blindfold. In truth, he was quickly growing tired of the game, he had no desire to sit here and be laughed at by men and boys that were growing steadily more raucous. He was about to pull the ribbon off and get up when someone touched his shoulder.

“Just one more,” a warm voice murmured. “I shall make it easy for you.”

Will stilled, hands clasping the arms of the chair and back straightening incrementally. Of course it would be him, and of course he would put Will in such a dilemma. If he guessed correctly -- and he was certain he would -- the game would end and Will would stand from the chair, freed once more. But if he didn’t, he would get a kiss. And a kiss from  _ him _ was… heaven.

Will swallowed and parted his lips for him. He knew from the moment the man had spoken what his morsel would be, and true to form, he felt the cool juice of a pomegranate seed spread against his lips before it was gently eased onto his tongue. Will trapped the finger between his lips for just a moment before it pulled away.

Tart, sour, fresh. It burst inside Will’s mouth brighter than any sparks that bubbles in champagne could ever arouse. It was a taste unique to itself, and a taste that immediately brought up images of the man who had fed the seed to him behind Will’s eyes.

And now, the quandary: to guess and free himself, or play the fool and accept a long-desired kiss.

“Pomegranate,” Will said quietly, to both cheers and boos from the group of men. Someone reached up to remove Will’s blindfold and he blinked quickly to bring the room into focus again.

There he was, right there, so close that Will could touch. He reached out, taking the hand he offered to help himself out of the chair. Whoever took Will’s place didn’t matter, and Will let go of the warm, familiar fingers almost as soon as they’d touched.  _ Not here. _ Absolutely  _ now, _ but not  _ here. _

“I am weary,” Will explained, heading towards the door.

“You are a spoilsport.” Someone replied. Will shrugged that off with a grin, it hardly mattered. They would all play late into the night until they fell asleep upon the chairs and couches, draped over each other like puppies in a pen.

Will wanted something else. Will needed something more.

His heels clipped against the marble floors, an echo of his own heartbeat ringing through the corridors of Versailles. If someone followed, they did so masterfully, step-for-step. Will did not go to his own chambers, but to  _ his, _ those he did not share with his wife, those that he kept strictly for business and never once used them for that.

At the door, Will turned, and with a smile welcomed the young doctor against him. Quick fingers stopped a kiss, and Will grinned wider.

“No,” he said. “I want the kiss I would have gotten there. I want the kiss that would have shown them everything.”

Dark eyes, wine-red, narrowed, and thin lips kissed the fingertips pressed to them, murmuring his next words there like a prayer: “As you wish.”

Hannibal had come to Versailles through marriage. One of the Queen’s ladies in waiting had been betrothed to him, and once wed was allowed to welcome him to court. A doctor by education, Hannibal soon found himself in demand for all sorts of maladies from the King and Queen’s entourage. He wasn’t the royal physician, but he was permitted to work if he saw fit to do so.

Hence separate quarters, so that work would not interfere with his husbandly duties.

Alas, work often interfered, sometimes late into the night, sometimes well into the morning.

Hannibal’s wife said nothing, though she knew, and while he kept them both out of scandalous gossip she allowed it. He bedded her as often as it was a husband’s duty to, and as a doctor knew when in her cycle to try for child. In truth, her passion for him was as cool as his was for her; they tolerated each other. But he was kind and she was patient, and that was the best either could have asked for in a life partner.

And to Hannibal’s credit, he did not sow his seed far and wide as others in court often did. He concentrated solely on one person.

Will.

Will, who had found his way to court through humble means; he had been the King’s brother’s whipping boy for the age of four through their teen years. He had learned much with the young Monsieur, and more  _ from  _ him. From the end of a cane to the soft hands that comforted him after, promising not to be so ill-behaved again. He learned passion and compassion, he learned deviance and the joy of misbehavior. He had been educated alongside the young prince, and upon his release from his duties, Phillipe had welcomed Will to court to enjoy the rest of his life in leisure.

They had remained intimate friends, and Will’s opinion held for Phillipe higher authority than his appointed advisors.

Will was given the freedom many at court could only dream of. No scandal could touch him, no bad word said against him. And to Will’s credit, he did not take advantage of the privilege, rather, he kept to the corners of the room, out of immediate attention. Away from the limelight, and in the company of the foreign, elusive young man so recently welcomed to court by marriage.

It started with fingertips, tickled against the back of Will’s hand, against the side of Hannibal’s neck as others busied themselves playing cards and drinking. From fingertips to knuckles, cool and gentle as they traced the embroidered patterns of Will’s waistcoat. Then palms, spread and warm, grasping Hannibal’s arms through the linen shirt he wore.

It crept slow and crested like a wave, all out of sight of all but the most observant of Phillipe’s friends.

Phillipe himself teased Will of his good fortune, whispering to him as they sat at dinner together how he had looked upon the young physician and dreamed of filthy and wonderful things. Will, in turn, teased Phillipe for his own choice of consort; asking casually how confusing it was for them to beg each other when they shared a name.

The first time Will had come to Hannibal’s rooms, he had truly been poorly. A tonic and kind words had been all that were exchanged. 

The second time, Will had come and locked the door behind him, teasing Hannibal’s hands against the froth of his shirt, guiding him to where the ailment was. He left satisfied and fully healed, a tease of a bruise peeking from just above his collar.

After that… well. It was hardly Will’s fault that he fell ill so often. He was of a delicate disposition, a sensitive man, and with access to such a learned physician he would have been a fool not to take advantage of his services.

Now, as the door opened behind him and Will was guided through, he smiled wide and wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders. Where Phillipe was svelte, Hannibal was broader, stronger. He lifted Will as though he weighed nothing at all and set him down on the chaise, pressing a knee between Will’s willingly spread legs to balance himself.

He still had not kissed him, though they were close enough to breathe each other’s air. Instead, he reached over Will’s form, close enough that WIll could trail kisses over his cravat, up to his throat, and lit a candle. When he sat back, Hannibal pulled his cravat free, smoothing the fabric flat between his fingers as Will looked up at him from his recline.

“You look tired,” he commented.

“I am,” Hannibal admitted, though his smile was sincere. He folded the silk in his hands, wine-red, as the ribbon in the game had been, and leaned in to set it over Will’s eyes. He secured the knot above the ribbon in Will’s hair, and tugged that free as he sat back once more. Will’s curls were a thing of beauty. It was remarkable how alike he and the prince were, it had often been said that that was the reason young Will had been plucked from his nameless home and brought to the palace.

But Hannibal had never had eyes for the prince. He had eyes for the boy who had suffered with him.

Now, he leaned in, cupping Will’s face with both hands, and kissed him. He tasted from his willing lips the pomegranate he had fed him, the bitter chocolate, the last tang of apple. He tasted from Will’s lips his desire, his ache, his need, and fed his own back.

“I would have kissed you proudly,” Hannibal murmured, pressing their foreheads together as he freed one hand to work Will’s waistcoat open. Will’s hands were busy with Hannibal’s own clothes, knowing him blind. “I would have shown them how you deserve to be kissed.”

Will hummed, pleased, and smiled. “Remind me now,” he told him. “I’ve forgotten since last time.”

“I kissed you awake this morning,” Hannibal reminded him, nuzzling up against Will’s jaw.

“Far too long ago,” Will sighed, freeing Hannibal’s hair from the braid he’d worked it into. He drew his knees up around him and welcomed Hannibal back against him with a deeper kiss, a languid arch of his back to bring their bodies closer.

Their clothes were tossed forgotten to the floor as they devoured each other. Gentle nips turned to bites and tugs of lips, their breathing hitched in pleasure as skin came in contact with skin.

Not once did Will reach up to slip the blindfold free, not once did Hannibal offer to remove it for him.

Will was frantic by the time his trousers were tugged off his legs, moaned wanton and loud as Hannibal’s breath teased his aching cock through the thin fabric of his bloomers. “Taste me,” he whined. “Take me, Hannibal,  _ please.” _

Hannibal nuzzled between Will’s legs, laughing when his hair was tugged. “You smell exquisite when you’re aching.”

“Fiend,” Will gasped, legs trembling as Hannibal worked free the strands that held Will’s underwear secure. He removed it, and without a word more dove in to suck the leaking, swollen head of Will’s cock clean.

Will’s entire body shuddered, hands dropping to Hannibal’s shoulders, nails digging into the skin enough to leave pale marks behind. Hannibal had forgone some buttons when he’d worked open Will’s shirt, and he was trapped in the fabric now, like a fish in a net. With a laugh, Will tossed his head back and pressed his thighs securely tight around Hannibal’s head, crossing his ankles over his back as Hannibal took his cock deeper into his mouth.

Will knew he was a demanding lover, and hard to please; he had learned from the best. That had never seemed to put Hannibal off. In fact, he took it as a challenge that any time Will was in his bed he had to have him weeping in pleasure.

He was a master of his art.

Will bit his lip and quivered, a helpless, wordless plea escaping his throat as Hannibal dropped his hand to spread Will’s cheeks, the tip of his middle finger tickling against his rim.

“Oh,” Will grasped his own hair in a tight fist and  _ tugged. _ “Yes, God yes, Hannibal, please.”

The doctor pulled free of Will’s cock only long enough to slide farther back on the couch and elevate Will’s hips. He spread the younger man with practiced hands and leaned in to devour him wholesale, showing no mercy to the high, desperate sounds that Will made above him.

This always undid Will, ever since the first time he’d been pressed face first into silk pillows and told to arch his back. This was an intimacy beyond reason, it was a pleasure beyond life itself. Will saw stars behind his blindfold, felt goosebumps prickle up against his skin. His toes curled, relaxed, spread in his pleasure, and he held Hannibal down unnecessarily as his orgasm hit him, spurting hot and thick up Will’s chest and over his stomach.

Will’s completion did not mean Hannibal stopped his ministrations. He continued to lick and suck, kissing the most secret part of Will until he was trembling, until he was breathless and over-sensitive.

Only then did he sit up to look over the results of his hard work.

Will panted, one hand still tangled in his own hair, his cheeks hot, lips as bright as the silk that blinded him. Pearlescent drops rested against his heaving chest, ribs stark then receding beneath the skin again with every breath. He was extraordinary. He was exquisite. He was Hannibal’s, entirely.

When Will licked his lips, Hannibal leaned in to kiss them, pulling back to kiss over the blindfold before he eased it up over Will’s head. Blue eyes met brown, and Will grinned, wicked and lovely.

“Would you truly have kissed me so, just to show them?” Will murmured, laughing when Hannibal’s brow went up. “Devious man,” he sighed, reaching out to cup Hannibal’s cheek, to draw his thumb against his slick lips. “You know I’m starved for your kisses.”

“You are insatiable,” Hannibal agreed, turning his face to kiss the pulse hammering at Will’s wrist, eyes never leaving Will’s own.

“I am,” Will sighed, entirely shameless. “And I would have you kiss me again.”

“Just so?” Hannibal grinned, mirroring Will’s pleasure.

“Just so,” Will confirmed, grasping Hannibal’s hair just enough to guide him down once more, his legs spreading invitingly. The doctor kissed against the sensitive skin of Will’s thigh as he was moved, and freed himself only once, to look up the length of Will from his position.

“As you wish,” he said, and leaned in to savor him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Multiple chapters because you know when I get into an idea I usually want to continue it, but this has no set posting schedule so no clue when it will be updated!


End file.
